


sweet beyond honey

by erebones



Series: Waterdeep [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, Morning Cuddles, Morning Sex, Non-Explicit Sex, daisyvic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: Vic and Daisy have a lazy morning in.





	sweet beyond honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asexualshepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualshepard/gifts).



> i am VERY rusty with f/f sex and also very shy and intimidated about writing oc/oc porn so consider this uh.... the daisyvic starter pack. Daisy is my air genasi bard, and Vic is asexualshepard's halfling ranger from our Waterdeep campaign! Also this is jaz's fault for murdering me regularly with how hot and awesome and badass Vic is (and also that one tweet that one time :blush:)
> 
> title is taken from one of [these](https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2018/12/love-letters-12th-century-nuns-hauntingly-beautiful/) letters, written by gay 12th century nuns: "...I find nothing now that I could compare with your love, sweet beyond honey and honeycomb, compared with which the brightness of gold and silver is tarnished."

Daisy can’t remember the last time she was this comfortable. They finally mustered together enough coin for _three_ whole rooms at a middling inn—the upper edge of middling, really—and the luxury of an entire bed to themselves is exhilarating. She wiggles her toes against the sheets and rolls over, shoving her face up against Vic’s bicep. Even in repose it’s firm and muscular. Daisy kisses it, because it’s right there, and because Vic is _still asleep_ and that’s just criminal.

It’s very early, yet. The window is cracked to admit the occasional waft of clean sea air sighing in off the bluffs, and the rosy blush of early dawn spills over the bed like lace. It warms the bedding and makes Vic’s sleeping eyelids seem to glimmer, every freckle on her fair skin leaping to life like stars in a foreign sky. Daisy starts to count the ones on her arm and quickly loses the thread, moving instead to inch her arm across Vic’s front, under the covers.

From the other pillow comes a soft grunt. “I felt that.”

Daisy presses her smile into the silky skin of Vic’s inner elbow. “Sorry.”

“Nngh. ’s okay.”

With her limbs still clumsy from sleep, Vic hooks her arm under Daisy’s shoulders and pulls her close. Daisy flops against her and noses up under her chin. Vic smells so nice in the mornings, kinda like leather polish and soft cotton. When Daisy kisses her there, right where her pulse beats shallow and vulnerable beneath the skin, Vic hums and pulls her tighter. Daisy sighs happily.

“How long’ve you been awake?” Vic asks. Her voice is still scratchy and low in her throat. It makes the hair on Daisy’s nape stand up.

“Not long.” Daisy kisses her neck again, feather-light, and hums when Vic’s strong hand clasps her tighter at the waist. She fell asleep in one of Vic’s soft, oversized shirts, and the fabric gives way readily as Vic tugs it up and slips a hand underneath to palm her hip. _Kiss_.

“Hey,” Vic murmurs. “C’mere and kiss me.”

“I’ve _been_ kissing you,” Daisy insists, but she lets Vic guide her up to her mouth.

Daisy slips a leg across her hips and settles in with a little contented noise. Vic is sturdy and warm underneath her, a hot brand that burns against her belly. When she squirms, the heat travels down and unfurls between her legs, echoed by the slick warmth of Vic’s mouth against hers. Vic smiles, lips curled to lips, and drags her palms up along Daisy’s spine. Like butter in the sun, Daisy melts against her. Vic’s hands are like magic, she thinks. Stroking life and thrill into her skin with ease.

“Hey,” Vic breathes, like the exhale on a punch to the stomach. Her lips are red and swollen, eyes gone twilit as she watches Daisy push herself up to sitting. Daisy lets her weight rest heavy on the crux of Vic’s pelvis and smiles through the waves of hair falling heavy in her face.

“Hi.” Daisy reaches down and brushes a strand of hair from Vic’s cheek, turned to spun gold by the sun.

There’s nothing else to say. Vic is so beautiful she takes Daisy’s breath away, and all the words at her disposal turn to dust in her mouth. She has thought about writing songs for her: penning lyrics to her freckles, her strong arms, the flash of her smile against the nock of an arrow. But nothing ever sounds quite right when she tries.

(Maybe the lute would do it, she thinks. Maybe those soft strings would play it right. But she may never know, and she supposes she’ll just have to be okay with that.)

“What are you looking at?” Vic asks. Her hands are firm and sturdy on Daisy’s spread thighs, thumbs working up beneath the drape of her borrowed shirt.

Daisy shakes her head. Words, words. Empty sand. She leans forward, lets her hands crawl greedily up Vic’s bare, freckled stomach to her chest. Her ribs swell beneath her touch, and she can see the hollow of Vic’s throat grow tense as her calloused fingers brush her nipples. They’re such a lovely color, rosy like the dawn sky, like her cheeks growing warm beneath her freckles. Vic’s grip tightens on her thighs.

Daisy kisses her, as gentle still as the distant, half-remembered _shush_ of the waves on the beach. Their lips part and come together again, finding new angles—Vic’s teeth catch her bottom lip, Daisy’s tongue finds the roof of her mouth, their hands slowly wander and entwine.

“You look good in my shirt,” Vic rasps, already wrist-deep in the loose folds of sleep-warm cotton. She finds Daisy’s tits underneath and draws spirals on the smooth crystals dappling the undersides. “You should take it off.”

“Why should I, if I look good?” Daisy says with a pout. But she grabs the hem and drags it up and off anyway. Her arms naturally stretch toward the ceiling and she arcs into Vic’s hands, humming low in her throat at the soft, insistent fingers pulling on her nipples. “Vic…”

“Hmmm?” Vic cups her in her palms and then drags her hands down, down, easing Daisy’s hips forward just a little. Her thumbs are rough little points of tender pressure on her belly and Daisy _aches_.

“Can I,” Daisy mumbles, and caves forward like an avalanche, smearing her mouth to Vic’s clavicle. Her hand wanders, traces a winding path across Vic’s diaphragm to her smallclothes. “Can I touch you, please?” she whispers like a secret against her sternum. Vic’s eyes darken and she nods. Her next breath is hitched in the back of her throat as Daisy rubs the tips of her fingers gently over her pubic mound. Even through thin cotton, she can feel the dampness there, growing damper as she pets in a roundabout fashion. Vic’s thighs tremble and strain beneath her and her face blooms redder as she writhes.

“Dais—Dais, c’mon. Kiss me.”

Daisy is tempted to tease her, but the softness of the morning and the earnest depth of Vic’s eyes compels her forward. She clings to Vic’s shoulders for support, not wanting to crush her, and is pleasantly surprised when Vic grabs her ’round the hips and flips her onto her back, pushing the sturdy weight of her thigh between Daisy’s legs.

“Much better,” Vic pronounces, and lowers her lips to Daisy’s.

In the tangle of sun-warm linen, grounded in the weight of Vic’s affection, Daisy thinks she’s found paradise. When the ache becomes too insistent to ignore, Vic soothes her with muttered words and the firm, confident pressure of a hand between her legs. Daisy hitches her knees around Vic’s waist and cries out into her hair, sweet-smelling, soft, like hay in the dark and private warmth of summer’s shade.

“Easy,” Vic murmurs, thumb to the apex of her, fingers pressing deep enough that Daisy sees stars. “Oh, you’re lovely. Look at you…”

She is wrecked by her. Taking great gulps of air, Daisy grabs at her clumsily, pulling at her hips until she can bury her face between Vic’s freckled thighs. She is flushed and wet, tastes salty-sweet, like sunshine; then richer, like port wine, dark and satisfying. The weight of her is grounding and long, blissful minutes pass without want for breath. Vic’s fingers tighten suddenly in her hair, and Daisy moans against her in sympathy.

In the aftermath, they curl together on top of the covers, just breathing. The cool breeze wafting in from the cracked shutters is soothing against their skin. Daisy finds Vic’s hand, still damp, and curls their fingers together, amazed as ever by how delicate and small her hands are despite their strength and agility.

“We should get up soon,” Vic mumbles into her hair.

“Hmmm. Should we?” With a peculiar little wiggle, Daisy nudges further into her space, knocking their knees together and tucking her nose beneath Vic’s chin. “Odds to apples the others won’t be up for _hours_ yet…”

Vic shakes with silent laughter. “It’s _oranges_ , sweet pea. Oranges to apples.”

“Whatever.” Daisy flicks her fingers lightly over the freckles adorning Vic’s collarbone like a chain of rosy diamonds. “You knew what I meant.”

“Yeah, all right.” Voice soft with indulgence, Vic yawns and loops a strong arm around her shoulders. “A few more minutes.”


End file.
